


Epitome

by ironstatic (eloquentelegance)



Series: 100 Beautiful and Ugly Words [16]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloquentelegance/pseuds/ironstatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>embodiment of the ideal</p><p>(Everything Lux isn't.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epitome

_embodiment of the ideal_

She was a scholastic prodigy at eleven, a strategic genius by fifteen, and a war hero before her nineteenth birthday. A paragon of Demacian virtue, they called her, a shining example of military superiority. Jinx takes one look at her, and laughs. They both know better.

The Demacian Chronicles can say whatever it wants. Praising her bloodline, esteeming her natural gifts - it was all lip service. She’s no exemplar of might and honor. She doesn’t fight on the front lines, clapped in shining armor, bleeding, sweating under the pounding heat of battle. That’s her brother. Oh, she’s capable of direct combat, sure. On the Fields of Justice, she’s more than happy to bring out her offensive abilities. But then again, illusions and misdirections are her specialties.

Let them think her explosive, aggressive, a lane bully. Let them think her flashy and loud and glaringly obvious. The first skill she learned was to turn herself invisible. If they expect from her blinding light and obnoxious laughter, they won’t look for her in silence and shadows. And isn’t it ironic, that the so-called “Lady of Luminosity” works in the dark?

There lies her battleground, in the back streets and back alleys, where no light can reach. There is no glory, no honor, no romance in her duties. It’s not fighting the way little Demacians are told before bedtimes. There is no combat, no hand to hand or sword to sword, no matching of physical prowess. There is only swift and efficient execution, with no room for error. Or witnesses.

And so, she smiles. She giggles. She greets her fellow champions. She walks the halls of the Institute and hides in plain sight. But Jinx saw her. Jinx knows she’s not some beacon of purity and goodness. Jinx knows she’s not the Measured Tread calcified into flesh and bone. Jinx knows she’s neither luminous or a lady. Her work is essentially to cheat. It is sabotage and theft. She is nothing more than a thief.

And maybe, it’s because Jinx is a criminal. Maybe criminals develop a sense for recognizing other crooks. But then again, looking at Jinx was like looking at a mirror, with cracks blooming out the center, a spiderweb of lines both beautiful and sharp. They both know. What they are is never what they appear to be.


End file.
